Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Can't get out of bed today. Probably the flu. Rescheduling shit without really knowing what I'm doing. FML.
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Rainy Sunday. Fuck all Sundays, but this one in particular is getting on my nerves. Blocking a few randos relaxed me a bit, though.
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Stupid accidents shorten my life. Those not involving wounds most of all.
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
I wasted food. Maybe a hundred grams of rice. Worse than a pint of blood in my book.
Not willing to discuss it. My idea of what's a sin against life or not isn't up for debate.
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Stupid accidents shorten my life. Those not involving wounds most of all.
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Buenas tardes, miserables.
Hace unas semanas aparecieron pegados en las paredes, postes, árboles, etc., de mi ciudad unos affiches donde se daban a conocer a la población el talento empresario y consiguiente éxito comercial las prácticas de explotación laboral de una pareja de hermanos, capitalistas de la gastronomía local, en cuyos restaurantes y de cuyas casas de comida para llevar comimos todos y todas aquí, tal es el control oligopólico de que disfrutan.
Digamos que la dicha campaña de propaganda no fue de su agrado. Los carteles fueron arrancados o, según el caso y con la evidente idea de ahorrar tiempo y esfuerzo, censurados con pintura negra. Me pregunto si habrán convencido a los mismos empleados que esclavizan de cumplir tan ingrata tarea.
En cualquier caso y como vivimos en el futuro, aquí un medio periodístico local pero accesible globalmente porque Internet cubre con más que suficientes detalles el conflicto laboral, nombra a Carlos y Marcelo Leuzzi, y por supuesto ilustra la nota con los affiches libres de censura, donde se aprecian sus desagradables rostros.
Y le pedí a archive.is que guardara una copia, porque no me cuesta nada colaborar tan modestamente.
La situación no está bien en #LaPlata, ni en #Argentina en general, y varios lugares del mundo se ven bastante jodidos también. Pero tenemos que seguirla peleando así sea con actos mínimos. Aunque preferiría ver que nos organizamos en serio, claro.
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
UNZIP_DISABLE_ZIPBOMB_DETECTION=TRUE
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Officially out of HRT as of today. Being poor in a country that judges it as a moral failing exposes us to peculiar forms and levels of cruelty.
#posiwid
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Howdy, fuckos!
A hundred and eight years ago. Great War still raging in Europe. But the Americas were relatively safe. Right?
Wrong. At least for Halifax and Dartmouth, port cities in Nova Scotia.
Two ships, one loaded with tons of high explosives bound for France, collided and burned. Not until 1945 so much energy would be released in a single blast: 2.9 kilotons to Trinity's 25.
Maybe two thousand souls lost, nine thousand bodies maimed, probably twenty thousand persons left without a roof over their heads in December.
The disaster finally got its own song in the year of the recent pandemic. Bit more than a century had passed from the so-called "Spanish flu". Story for another day.
The other ship, after repairs, somehow (read: helmsman left his post to sleep off a drunk) ended up beached on Isla Soledad (that's "East Falkland" for those who don't know how to say "Malvinas").
I've changed since telling this story in Spanish. Damned if I know what that means. But I feel fine.
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Evening.
Caption was going to be "Off to Pride" but atmosphere over here got a fit of queerphobia and literally rained on our parade.
So I went to the park around the corner, found a dry spot below a tree (yes, that's how much it's raining... we could have marched under umbrellas if didn't mind everything being wet around us), and told graphically Mother Earth how are we feeling today.
Sincerely, from the ass of the goddamn world, this old tranny that has no more fucks to give.
We'll get our parade, eventually. We always do.
cc @atax1a@infosec.exchange
Ángela Stella Matutina@angelastella@social.treehouse.systems
Duerme el Viejo Mundo.
https://social.treehouse.systems/@angelastella/115624215986521482